


Plover

by thatsoccercoach



Series: Beauchamp, Plain and Tall [4]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Beauchamp plain and tall sequel, prairie fic, sarah plain and tall crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: The Fraser family has grown closer over the relatively short time they have been together. But the prairie is a hard place to make a life and trials are facing them over which they have no control.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Just as Beauchamp, Plain and Tall was based on the book Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia Maclachlan, this story is based on her Skylark. The book is a piece of masterful storytelling that I have adored since childhood. The best parts of my fic here are only due to the brilliance of her story.
> 
> Thanks as always to happytoobserve for the help!

“Stand  _ still,  _ Willie,” I whispered under my breath, aiming a small kick at his ankle. I could feel Claire’s eyes watching me even though she didn’t say a thing. She always seemed to know somehow. I stood straighter.

Our formation was something of a letter V. Da and Claire standing side by side, though turned in slightly. Willie and I were in front of them, also angled in. This meant that Da and his wife could look at one another. It also meant that Willie and I could, which was rather less comforting.

The photographer, one Angus Mohr to whom we were somehow (supposedly), distantly related, was peering at us --my family-- as we stood in the scorching sun. I’m sure my eyes were squinting and I felt a trickle of sweat starting at the nape of my neck where the crisp lace of my starched collar was prickling me. 

Willie, it seemed, had not even attempted to be still but was swinging his legs lazily as they dangled from where he sat perched atop a stool Da had placed in the barnyard between our house and the corral. He continued the monotonous motion with his legs. Backward, thumping against the wooden legs, forward, approaching my own shins. I aimed another kick at him and he turned toward me, scowling.

It seemed that Claire and Da hadn’t a bit of trouble standing still. They looked as if they were already photographed, Da with his big hand on Claire’s slender shoulder and she, reaching across her body to hold that hand in place. They could have been a king and queen or a laird and lady, they strood so regally in spite of the fine dust that continued its ceaseless travel on the nearly-stagnant breeze.

I tried to think of them while I stood. The photograph was intended to be mailed off to Claire’s family. The family she’d been born into. It was to show them her new family. The one she’d married into. This photograph was about everyone Claire loved.

Willie began to whistle and Claire’s serene smile split into a larger one. I could tell Da felt her stance change because he tightened his grip. Then she laughed. 

Then  _ he  _ laughed.

And the photograph was taken right then, all of us in a fit of laughter after having held still for so long.

“Your uncle ought to like that,” the photographer said, taking off his cap to use it as a fan. “A lovely family.”

“Mmm,” Claire hummed in response, fanning herself as a curl pulled loose and drooped, framing her face that was lightly dusted with freckles from the sun. “He’ll hardly know what I look like anymore.” She said it, but she didn’t seem too bothered by it. Claire had changed since she came to us, but it was only in ways that were good and somehow made her even  _ more  _ Claire rather than less.

“You hail from Maine, yes?” Angus continued.

“I do,” she confirmed, nodding her head and causing yet another curl to tumble. I knew that Claire was always flustered when they did that. I also knew that Da was  _ not,  _ and rather enjoyed it.

“She lives  _ here  _ now,” Willie proclaimed loudly, voice dangerously close to defiance. Da put his hand atop Willie’s head and ruffled his curls.

The photographer nodded in agreement. “Aye, she does now.”

He looked over the land before continuing to speak. “I suppose then, that Maine is green.”

When the wind blew you could hear it in the grass. Instead of whispering between the stalks it rattled them now, brittle as they were. Clouds of dust rose everywhere that growing things didn’t keep it down. It had been too long since we had rain.

“I remember back in Scotland when the land itself turned on us. No’ like this,” Angus raised his hands to quiet Willie before he asked about some Scottish drought that hadn’t existed. “The famine struck hard. Our family, we left Scotland then and Jamie, yours followed.”

“And you never went back home,” Willie stated flatly.

“Hush,” I said to Willie, nudging him with the toe of my boot that had kicked at him only moments before.

Angus packed up his things and left us there.

“It will rain, Claire. It will rain,” Da said gently.

“Will you worry, Da? If it doesna rain?” Willie asked, the Scots that he never used unless surrounded by it becoming more obvious.

“I’ll worry,” Da said. “But we will be fine. We always are.”

“Imagine having to  _ leave _ ,” said Claire.

“We’ll never leave,” said Da. “Our names are written in the land. We claimed it. The children were born here.”

When Da and Claire finally went inside to change out of their Sunday best, Willie continued with what I didn’t want him to say. He did that often, saying the things that nobody wanted to hear.

“Claire’s name isn’t written in the land, Bree.”

“I know that,” I said crossly. “Da knows it too.”

And then Willie took a stick and began to carve out letters in the dirt. First a lopsided C then an L-A-R-E. I watched him write.

“I’ll write Claire’s name in the land,” he said.

“You can’t even spell, Willie.” And I stalked away from him, wanting to turn around and apologize for being cross. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.


	2. Two

I hadn’t realized that it could grow hotter, but it did, the sun so hot that we stayed inside to avoid it if possible. Even Adso, who would usually find a patch of warmth, sought the shade instead while Bran and Elphin, tongues lolling, would sprawl across the cool wood of the floor in the kitchen. Claire would try to force them out and “evict them from her territory,” as she said it, but they always returned to the cooler space. Da was the only one who stayed outside, checking the dry crops, checking the ever-falling level of water in our well. Waiting for rain.

The color of the land turned from varied shades of green with splashes of color in Claire’s garden to pale hues of tan, beige, and brown. Claire’s lovely pencils -green, blue, and grey- were used less and less often.

When Da came in from walking the fields he brought with him the only thing that was left there: dust.

I scowled when he walked across the floor that Claire and I were working on. She had what Willie and I thought was an unreasonable desire for cleanliness. I was sweeping, she was scrubbing, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her hair escaping the kerchief that she had tied round her face to keep back her curls. 

“Da! Your boots!” I widened my eyes in exasperation and went behind him, sweeping again, as he sat down on one of our kitchen chairs.

“What is it, Jamie?” Claire asked him, watching him carefully in that way she did when she knew there was something more he’d tell her _ without _words rather than with them.

“Weel, tha’ may be the last time ye wash the floor for now. Least until it rains again,” he explained. He planted his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands for a moment. Claire sat back on her heels and waited for him.

“We need to save the water, ken?”

“Well, we’ll look at it as a blessing then!” Claire shrugged, sneaking a smile in my direction as she knew I’d be pleased. She used her forearm to nudge her wild curls away, the rag in her hand dripping the last water we’d be using for washing the floor until the rain came once more.

I could hear the water hit. _ Pat, pat, pat. _

“So, no washing the floor then?” Willie asked eagerly. He was sitting at the table across from Da eating an afternoon snack.

“We _ will _still keep it clean.” The look Claire shot at him brooked no argument and he sat back in his chair a little bit. As soon as Claire turned back to her task, Willie dipped his hand down to feed Adso a bite.

“Willie, no more,” Claire chided gently. “She’s getting fat off all the things you smuggle to her.”

“I dinnae think she’s just _ fat _,” Da said, looking first at the cat and then at Claire.

“What?” asked Willie.

“Wot?” asked Claire.

I smiled.

“Kittens.” Da sat back in his chair, still watching. “Has she had kittens before then, Claire?”

“No,” she whispered. “Never.”

There was a funny look on her face as she shook her head. Da kept on watching, never looking away. It was like Willie and I weren’t even there.

“Imagine that,” Claire finally said. “Kittens.”

* * *

I was pretending, almost like in one of Willie’s stories that he loved. The ones with _ happily ever afters _ and dreams that came true. Because sometimes people did live happily ever after. Some did have dreams that came true.

Sometimes the rain did come.

Claire’s dress, the one she’d worn when she’d married Da, had caught my eye when I returned the folded laundry to the wooden chest, smooth and worn, that sat at the foot of their bed. I couldn’t help but take it out, smoothing the wrinkles with my hand. My skin was dry from working and my hand felt rough over the surface. I held up the dress to myself and twirled once in front of the mirror. Though I was tall for my age, the dress was still much too long for me. Right now.

There was a noise in the doorway and I startled, but Claire was there leaning against the door jam with a dreamy smile on her face. It was as if she was half remembering and half seeing the future.

“I didn’t intend on frightening you, Bree,” she said.

I turned back to the mirror again, unable to keep from comparing myself to Claire, the only mother I could really remember.

“Someday, when I am grown,” I paused and turned to her. “Someday I will marry and move to my husband’s land. That’s what Da says anyway.”

“Oh, does he know?” she queried, brows raised in a way that had become familiar to me over the months. She had once said that she was not meek. That much was true.

“It’s what you did,” I pointed out. “All the way from Maine. You came to marry Da and be our mother.”

There was a long pause. “I suppose that I did.”

She came into the room slowly and sat down on the quilt that covered the bed. Willie followed on her heels and let himself fall onto the bed beside her. I watched them as she reached out her hand and gently stroked his red hair off his forehead.

“And then you fell in love with us!” Willie exclaimed loudly. A bit _ too _loudly.

“That I did,” she said in reply. “But first I fell in love with your letters.”

“Did you fall in love with Da’s letters too? Before you met him?” Willie pressed on.

“Mmm,” Claire hummed, closing her eyes for a moment, tilting her head back as she thought. “I began to. I loved what was between the lines, most certainly.”

“What?” insisted Willie. “What was it that was between the lines? You can’t put things in between lines of letters.”

But Claire looked at me when she answered, like there was a secret understanding between us.

“His life.” She whispered it. “His life was between the lines.”

“At times,” I said, pausing. “Da is not the best with words because he holds on to them and _ doesn’t _say them. Or says just some that tell half a story. Or he gets angry and says the wrong ones”

Her face cracked into a wide smile. She knew that Da and I sometimes used the wrong words or no words at all when we grew angry. She also knew that, given time, we found the right ones. She said I was more like him in temperament than I knew. I thought that sometimes _ she _ was the one who was stubborn and had a temper like Da’s but I knew not to say that because _ words. _

“Sometimes he is not good with words, but not always,” the smile stayed in place but her eyes got the faraway look again. “Your da’s letters had simple words, but I could _ see _ this farm and the animals and the sky. I could see _ you, _ Brianna. Sometimes what people choose to write down on paper _ is _more important than what they say.”

Willie slowly windmilled his arms as if he were making snow angels on the quilt. He didn’t understand what Claire meant, but I did. I had a journal of my own where I wrote every day. What was there helped me see what was real even more clearly than when I looked in a mirror. I could see me, Da who sometimes used his words unwisely, Willie who blurted his, and Claire. Claire whose own words had changed us all.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New joys surround the Frasers in spite of the drought.

Sunday morning brought church as it nearly always did. When I woke that day, I could tell it was time to rise only by the sunlight piercing the curtains at the window. The air was still, even the animals seemed unusually quiet and I wondered if Da would come in from milking to tell us that there would be a storm.

We dressed in our best, the clothes we’d worn for the photograph. The clothes we had worn for the wedding. Claire reminded us all, Willie in particular, that there was no extra water for washing. I could tell she wanted us not to worry but I knew already that she was.

The church was cool, as if it had been sheltered from the arid land right outside its doors. We sat close together on the hard pew, Da then me then Claire holding Willie on her lap even though he wasn’t a baby. Willie fell asleep, his still-chubby cheek pressed against Claire’s shoulder. Da reached over my shoulder and placed his big hand at the back of Claire’s neck. I could feel it, like she belonged to him, like he was protecting her. It made me feel safe.

Jenny, Ian, and their family sat in the pew in front of us and I could tell they found the cool peaceful as well. 

There is a word, _ sanctuary, _ which means the inside of a church. It also means a safe place where you dwell.

Pearl and Ruby sat on either side of their parents, fidgeting on occasion, but not as much as baby Ian who chewed his own hand with a gummy smile. He reached out to Claire at the close of the service, when Willie had woken. She took wee Ian in her arms and he grabbed her hair, bouncing happily.

Reluctantly, we left. Back into the sun.

Claire and Jenny walked to the shade of a large tree to talk.

“Any news?” inquired Jenny, always curious, cat-like eyes watching.

“Well,” answered Willie as if she had asked him instead. “Adso is going to have kittens. Lots of kittens!”

That made Jenny laugh.

“I do think I’ve seen her about with our barn cat Sam, the big orange cat,” she explained. 

“So, it’s Adso and Sam then?” Claire raised her eyebrows and she and Jenny shared a laugh.

They were quiet for a moment and Claire kissed wee Ian’s head, covered in downy hair, as he continued to wrap his tiny fingers in her curls that could not be contained.

“I’m surrounded by motherhood,” she said softly.

I watched her then. She sounded thoughtful and almost sad, somehow. She looked as if she saw something very far away, though there was nothing to see aside from dried prairie grass.

“A calf will be born soon,” she explained, bouncing Ian gently. “Then the kittens.”

When Ian and Da joined us, she still had that peculiar look on her face and Jenny hadn’t spoken. It was as if something was _ supposed _to be said but no way to say it.

“Mph,” grunted Da, making one of what Claire called ‘his Scottish noises’. His expression was rather somber, but aside from the times he smiled at Willie, myself, or Claire, he was never overly exuberant. Still, this was different.

“What is it, Jamie?” she asked softly. 

“‘Tis the water level in the church well. It’s lower than our own,” explained Da.

“Down a whole foot,” Ian added, hesitating to make eye contact.

“A foot?” interjected Jenny. “That’s the most I’ve heard around these parts.”

As I stood there, Da looked up at the sky. There were no clouds. Pure blue expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. 

“What if it doesn’t rain?” Willie asked. I nudged him, wishing that he’d just be quiet because I knew. I _ knew _ that the rain was not going to come soon. First things would get drier, life would get harder, and the rain would _ not _come.

“It will come, Willie,” Claire said, reaching out to ruffle his hair.

Wee Ian untangled his pudgy fingers from Claire’s hair and, without warning, leaned himself back to reach out to Da who took him deftly. Da smiled then.

“Aye, it will rain,” Jenny affirmed what Claire had said. “‘Tis the time before that is hard. It is always that way.”

That afternoon we rode home in the wagon, plumes of dust raised in the wake of the wagon wheels. The land looked rippled and shimmery as heat waves rose. As much as Claire and Jenny had said that it _ would _rain, there were no clouds in the sky.

* * *

“Guess what?”

Morning light streamed across my quilt as Claire swept the curtain to the side. She looked disheveled, but quite pleased, a look that was almost smug upon her face.

“The calf is born,” she smiled. “I wanted you to know before I woke Willie.”

I threw back my covers and sprung from my bed, wrapping my arms tight around her and burying my face against her. She held me there, tucked against her, hand smoothing my hair. For a few minutes, even though Da knew about it, I pretended that it was our secret -mine and Claire’s.

“You could have woken me!” I told her, eyes alight with excitement as I stepped back, eager to grab my dress.

“I suppose I could have, but your Da came and got me before it was even light out. I could barely see my way to the barn!” she laughed. “It was like watching a miracle, Bree. A _ messy _one!” She laughed again as she gestured to herself, hair askew, missing the apron that she usually wore (presumably because of the “messy” miracle.)

Claire helped me get ready that morning. We were quiet, just watching each other and _ being _. It was perfect. 

When we went to the hallway, Willie was standing there, sleep blurring his eyes and hair wild. He seemed to realize quite suddenly that he was awake. He stood abruptly straight, looking slightly confused and slightly frightened in turn.

“You look like a fretful porpentine!” exclaimed Claire, swooping down to plant a kiss on his head and soothe his surprise.

I giggled in amusement. “Come, Willie. We’ve breakfast to eat and a new calf to meet!”

“A new calf?” He seemed suddenly to be completely alert, turning abruptly and running back to his room. “I’ve got to get dressed!” his voice traveled down the hallway to myself and Claire. “And then eat and then meet the baby cow!”

We ate in a hurry, shoveling our food into our mouths in the way that Claire typically discouraged.

“What do you think, Da?” Willie asked, mouth full. “Does Eilidh like her calf?”

“I dinna ken,” Da paused. “I cannae say as I’ve ever seen a cow show that much emotion o’er her calf, to be sure.” The corners of his mouth turned up though. “What say you, Claire? Does she like her calf?”

“I’m rather certain that she does in fact seem fond of the calf, yes,” she murmured, looking more at Da instead of Willie.

“What does the calf look like, Da?” Willie pestered.

“Like a wee coo,” Da replied calmly.

Willie rolled his eyes. “I _ know _. But like what?” he insisted.

“Covered in ruddy brownish tufts, red like the clay on the banks of the creek.” Da’s hands moved as he talked almost as if he was sculpting the calf before our eyes.

“We ought to call him Ruaidh!” exclaimed Willie.

“Name him _ what?” _uttered Claire, both amused and confused.

“Ruaidh means _ red _,” Da told her.

Sometimes Da was not good at sharing all his words, but this time he was. The calf was as ruddy as the clay on the banks of the creek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @happytoobserve for all the attention, support, and cheer leading along the way!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Claire, ye got a letter too?”  
“It’s just the weather,” she said shrugging. “Fishing. Uncle Lamb’s boat.”  
“Read it,” Da whispered to her gently, in the whisper he used only for her.  
She unfolded the creases and the paper made a crinkling noise like dry leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff in this chapter from Skylark. I am so thankful for that book and the way this story has unfolded because of it!

The aunts-who-weren’t-aunts-at-all wrote to Claire. So did her Uncle Lamb. Da brought the letters the next time he came back from town. We read them all together by the light of the oil lamp that night. I couldn’t help but remember the days when we’d known Claire only by the words she had written on a page.

Da worked on mending a bridle and Willie sat close to his side. I was stretched out with my head in Claire’s lap, reading aloud.

“‘There was a nor’easter and the house shingles went to sea,’ aunt Arabella says.” I continued.

“What’s that mean anyway? ‘Went to sea?’” Willie asked, puzzled

Claire smiled at him. “They blew into the sea,” she said. “It’s not uncommon though it is a dreadful inconvenience.” 

Sometimes when she spoke of Maine I thought she was seeing herself there. I didn’t like not knowing if she was remembering the past or imagining what could be. I continued to read.

“‘That odd hat your uncle picked up in Cairo went to sea too,’” the letter read.

Willie sat upright, suddenly curious and alert as only he could be. “What hat? What’s Cairo?”

“It was a rather battered old thing that he picked up in Cairo, which is in Egypt. I’ll show you on a map sometime,” Claire offered.

“‘Two inches of rain by the glass measure…’” I paused, staring at that word. Rain. I tilted my head to look at Claire, to see if I should keep going, but she wasn’t watching me. She was watching Da. The lamplight cast dancing shadows across her face and her eyes sparkled.

“A glass?” interjected Willie again.

I wished he would stop. I didn’t want Da to think of the rain, didn’t want him to fret, didn’t want Claire to think of Maine’s coolness.

“Claire, ye got a letter too?”

“It’s just the weather,” she said shrugging. “Fishing. Uncle Lamb’s boat.”

“Read it,” Da whispered to her gently, in the whisper he used only for her.

She unfolded the creases and the paper made a crinkling noise like dry leaves.

“‘The grass is green,’” she read. “‘Growing so tall we’ve cut it dozens of times already. The trees are lush. Autumn will be beautiful. Come visit, all of you. Soon. Love, Arabella.’”

The room was quiet and even Willie didn’t speak for a time. After a few minutes Da got up, ruffling Willie’s hair, and went to stand in the doorway. Evening was gathering and the sun, low in the sky, looked as if it was pure fire.

He smiled at us before he went out to the barn.

Claire set her letter on the table before she followed Da outside. There was more to her letter than she’d read aloud. More about cool rain and fresh, green plants. I went and looked out after Claire as she rested her hand gently on Da’s forearm where he leaned against the fence.

I wanted to cry. I knew she was sad about the letters speaking of the rain, but it wasn’t her fault that Maine was green. It wasn’t her fault that we didn’t have rain.

I watched as Da turned Claire toward himself and settled her in his arms, then began to dance slowly in the dust like they sometimes did when they thought we weren’t watching. They danced until the sun went down, puffs of dust rising wherever their feet stepped.

* * *

The next day, the first thing Willie did was find a glass to put on one of the fence posts. I would have noticed anyway, we all would, but his frequent proclamations drew our attention even more.

“You’re welcome,” he said at the breakfast table, calmly scooping eggs into his mouth.

“Thank you?” said Claire, confusion coloring her tone.

“For the glass,” Willie clarified. “I put it on the fence post so Da can measure rain with it.”

Da  _ did _ measure every day, but it wasn’t rain he measured. At one point, a time that seemed so long ago but really was only the recent past, Da had measured the water in the pond, watching it recede down the banks into nothing. Now, the situation was more dire and he measured the dropping water levels in our well. I knew it was getting low. Claire and Da knew exactly  _ how  _ low it could get before we would need to make changes.

Bigger changes that just not washing the floors.

Da’s face changed when Willie said the word: rain. Claire had immediately turned to watch him.

“Thank ye, Willie, fer the glass,” he said as he stood and drained the coffee in his cup, handing it to Claire who he kissed.

Then he patted Willie’s head, ruffling the curls, and walked out the door to our barnyard.

“Does Da like the glass, Claire?” Willie’s nose scrunched up as he asked her.

In my mind I wished Willie understood that Da was worried. I wished he knew that making Da think about rain all the time wouldn’t help the rain come. But Willie didn’t understand any of that.

Claire was patient with him.

“He likes it, Willie. He’s just worried.” She sighed, taking Da’s mug to the sink. She wiped her hands on her apron, wringing the fabric more than usual. More than when she  _ wasn’t  _ concerned.

“But he says the rain always comes. Ian and Jenny say that too.”

“Indeed,” she nodded. “The times when it doesn’t come are difficult though, particularly when all your Da wants is to make a good home for us all in this land.”

I didn’t care for the way she said “this land” as if it were a foreign thing and not our home. Claire loved us, I knew. She would be with us forever. But it didn’t mean that she never thought of Maine. It didn’t mean that a piece of her heart wasn’t left there. Da was usually the one to put Claire back together, all here, all  _ her.  _

But Da was the one who needed Claire this time.

“Well, the glass will catch the rain when it comes. Then we can measure how much there is, by the glass.” He nodded, slid off his chair, and brought his dishes to Claire.

She bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Yes,” she murmured. “When the rain comes.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems dull to say thank you over and over again when @happytoobserve does such a good job balancing gentleness and honesty...but thank you <3
> 
> Thank you also to those who are reading and to those who have left kind comments. You are the rare ones lately and you are so appreciated!


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fraser's community handles some heavy losses due to the ongoing drought and Jamie and Claire work together to handle problems at their own farm.

When last we’d been to church, Mary and Alex Randall had invited everyone who lived nearby to come to a barn raising. What we arrived to that hot day was not a barn raising. I suppose that when you live on a prairie and you live farther from the people you’re going to help, “a barn raising in two weeks’ time” can turn into something else entirely.

Those who had farms adjacent to the Randalls’ were already aware of the change. They had brought things like quilts, jerked beef, dried herbs used for healing, and similar items that were all being packed into a wagon in front of Alex and Mary’s house.

“Jenny!” Claire exclaimed, jumping down from the wagon seat the second Da stopped in the barnyard, and seeking answers from her friend. “What’s happened?” 

The wild look in her eyes frightened me.

Jenny came close, leaving Ruby and Pearl on a blanket where they played. I held my arms out and baby Ian came to me, leaving Jenny and Claire with a bit of space to talk even though I could already guess what had happened. I knew Claire could too.

“Their well is dried up,” Jenny said, gesturing off in the distance to the edge of the Randall's land where the well was situated. “And they cannae stay wi’out water. Mary has family no’ too far away…” she trailed off.

“We could haul water. We could help,” Claire insisted, color rising in her cheeks either from her frustration or the heat. Or both.

“Ye ken well that we canna,” Jenny chided. Nobody could haul enough water when they had their own farms to take care of, their own families to help.

“Mary’s family is terribly far off, truly,” Claire whispered in reply. “So they’ll just leave their land and go there and-” she stopped before she could say “And never come back.”

“Dinna fash yerself, Claire. They’ll be well, though we’ll miss them. It won’t happen this way to us,” she reassured. “Our men have poured their heart’s blood into this new land and they willna e’er leave it.” Jenny’s voice was strong. Sometimes she sounded as if she were somehow  _ bigger  _ than she was due to the way she spoke.

I bounced Wee Ian. Willie played with the little girls on the blanket. Da helped load things into the Randall’s wagon.

A hope chest.  _ I  _ had a hope chest. It contained my mother’s wedding dress, a shawl that Jenny had given to me that my mother had made, and it was beginning to slowly be filled with lovely embroidered things that Claire had made once she’d gotten good at that sort of thing, once she thought I wasn’t looking. I guessed that Mary had never thought she’d take her hope chest back home again.

Drawers. A big dresser with several drawers. I didn’t know what filled them, but knew it would only be the things they valued enough to carry the weight of. Things they couldn’t leave behind if they never returned.

Their pots and pans hung in several spots, clanging against each other though they hadn’t even begun to drive away.

When they did drive away, Claire followed in the dust of the wagon wheels until Da went and got her and wrapped his arms around her and brought her back to us.

* * *

The ride home was quiet. Claire and Da sat closer than usual. Willie was silent for once, tired out from playing with our friends. At one point, he fell asleep.

“Jenny reminded me that yer birthday is coming,” Da interrupted the silence and Willie’s head popped up. “Have ye any idea what ye’d like?”

“What would I ask for?” Claire replied. “I have everything I need. All I could want.”

She leaned against Da’s shoulder as he continued.

“A fine dress, silk, spices, travel?”

All was quiet but for the noise of the wagon.

She spoke so softly that I nearly couldn’t hear. “Do you really think I would go anywhere, Jamie?”

I knew she didn’t mean travel. I knew she meant our land, leaving it behind as Mary and Alex had done. Da guessed she would understand his question that way as well. The silence stretched on, not uncomfortable but not peaceful either. 

It was Willie who noticed first. He sat bolt upright before letting out a shout.

"Fire! Da, fire!"

Da pulled Claire off the seat to huddle on the floorboards of the wagon. Willie and I clutched at the edges of the wagon bed. Da called out to the horses, slapping them with the reins to urge them faster.

I could see the smoke rising, painting the blue sky with smudges of an awful grey.

It was in the meadow next to the house. The meadow that had once been green and life-filled.

“Grab the empty grain sacks by the barn and soak them in the rain barrel,” Da yelled at Claire, shoving her toward the barn and running along.

They beat at the flames as Willie and I ran back and forth, soaking more sacks, trading them for the ones that were dried by the tongues of fire that licked at them even as Da and Claire fought back.

A breeze rose and Da yelled at Claire to stay back. 

Bran and Elphin ran, either to greet us or due to the fire.

Suddenly Claire screamed. A spark had jumped onto the hem of her dress, catching fire. It was over as quickly as it had started, but my heart pounded. Da had thrown her to the ground and smothered the flame with a damp sack.

“Yer fine?” Da asked, abruptly. 

“Yes,” she said succinctly, beating back the flames once more.

“Did ye no’ hear me when I told ye to stay back? Do ye no’  _ e’er  _ listen?” He was yelling now and though the crackle of the fire had lessened, I was sure he could have been heard over the blaze even when it had been in full force. There was a look of wild fear in his eyes and behind the soot stains, his face was pale.

“Stop yelling! Tyrannical behavior won’t prompt me to obey any  _ more _ ! You can’t do this on your own, Jamie. Put out this fire!” Her eyes blazed like the flames had. 

Soon there was only charred grass and small coals glowing. It would be different now. We would be watching for fires all the time, even at night.

Willie and I were damp from wetting the sacks and we were frightened. Da’s shirt was untucked and stained. There were spots on his trousers where embers had burned through. Claire’s hair had escaped again and there was a hole in her dress, more evidence of the fire.

“Ye look a sight,” Da told her.

He watched her as we all walked, then he slowly reached out a hand to hold hers. “Ye look lovely.”

I had never heard Da say such a thing to Claire. It made my heart squeeze and I held my breath waiting for her response.

She turned to him and said what she had earlier. “Do you really think I would go anywhere? That I’d leave?”

They turned toward the barn and Willie made to follow but I held him back. Da and Claire walked past us as if we weren’t even there. All the way out to the barn. They stood and faced each other and began to dance like they sometimes did.

Even as dusk fell I could see them out my bedroom window, outlined by the light of the moon. I never heard them come in that night. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they danced all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you have to thank for this chapter? @happytooserve! She's always there for feedback and support and this fic wouldn't be half as good without her help!


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when the land where you live isn't "your" land?

Sometimes I forgot that Da and our closest neighbors were Scots. It was not that there weren't any obvious indications. They spoke in a manner different from those around us. Both Ian and Da wore kilts on occasion. When they drank, Da and Ian sang in a way that made me cringe and Claire laugh at the tunelessness of it. But that was who they were and sometimes those details faded into the background of  _ them _ , just as Claire’s love for proper tea and her proper words made  _ her. _

My da and Ian had come here with their families to make a new life. Jenny had come to be a wife to Ian. And sometimes all of them dreamed of their homeland.

As we often did, we sat on the porch of the Murray’s house one hot day. Even the shade from the eves couldn’t protect us from the scorching heat. Only Willie, Ruby, and Pearl seemed immune to it as they frolicked in the barnyard together. 

The women sat on the porch, Wee Ian on a blanket in front of them, and I sat with them. Claire held her knitting needles unreasonably close to her face as if that would improve her knitting skills. She had been “right fashed,” as Da had put it, when she found out that the menfolk knew how to klickit and she did not. Now Jenny was teaching her. Well,  _ right  _ now Jenny was fanning herself, eyes closed, as she leaned back in her chair to take a break.

“I willna lie,” Jenny said. “Sometimes I dream of Scotland, all green and doused by rain, instead of this heat. Sometimes,” she continued. “I dream of nights where I sleep and the wee fiend doesna wake me.” At that, she shot a small smile in the baby’s direction.

“Claire says there are daydreams  _ and  _ the usual kind of dreams,” Willie called out to us from his kneeling position in the dust in front of some marbles.

“Och, aye. Yer Claire is right,” she said to Willie.

“Once in a while,” Claire said, eyes straying from her knitting. Hands stilling. She gazed in front of her to where baby Ian sat, completely content to hold a ball of yarn. “No matter where you are you remember something, dream of something. And sometimes it’s as if that  _ something  _ is right in front of you, so real that you could reach out a hand and grab it. You can smell it, hear it…” she trailed off.

She realized that she was staring and quickly looked up as if caught, a nearly guilty expression.

“Maine,” Willie whispered, coming up to me. “She dreams about her old home in Maine.”

“I have dreams,” Willie said loudly, to everyone.

“Do you then?” Claire looked at him, her face lighting up in that way it did when she smiled. “What is it you dream of?”

“Rain,” he blurted. “All the time I dream of when the rain will come. Do you?”

We all nodded. “Yes,” murmured Claire.

“If we all dream it, it will come true then!” he exulted.

But that was not what happened. Even when we drove our wagon to the river, barrels rattling around in the back waiting to be filled, we were greeted with parched land. Only a small trickle of water was left.

And when we visited with Ian and Jenny, our day dreams were more like nightmares. Is there a word for a nightmare that happens when you are awake? I don’t know that there is one, but  _ drought _ comes close enough.

The Murrays were making plans to leave if the rain didn’t come.

Claire was angry. Not angry so much as wanting, needing, to fix things but unable to. Da had once said that Claire was a healer all the way to the core of her being, and that need to heal extended to the situations we all faced.

“We wouldna stay away forever, Claire,” Jenny told her. “Just until the rain. Ian has built a home and a life here. This is his land and he cannae truly leave it.”

“It’s not  _ my _ land,” hissed Claire. “And I hate it. And before you tell me I sound like a petulant child, remember that. Remember that this is  _ not  _ my land." Her cheeks were flushed an angry red and her eyes looked somehow dark. Then she whispered. "My land would not turn on me.”

I closed my eyes, tears burning them, wishing that I had not heard what Claire said.

“You dinnae have to love the land, Claire. But if ye ne’er learn to love it, ye willna survive it. ‘Tis impossible,” Jenny said.

The Murrays left in their wagon to go home -for now- and Da loaded ours. Claire stood, staring out at the horizon, alone, until Da brought her back to the wagon and we went home as well.

* * *

Willie was working on sums on his small slate. His tongue was caught between his lips, sticking out as he tried to figure the numbers that Claire had written out for him.

I was writing in my journal. Claire had been correcting my penmanship lately and I was trying to make the proper changes as I wrote. I noticed my own tongue stuck between my lips and wondered if we all did that.

Claire was hanging bunches of dried flowers in a more organized way so that Da would not bump them with his head when he walked through the room. She hadn't any new flowers to hang because there had been nothing blooming for a long while now. A few herbs still grew, but that was all.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as though the air wasn't just hot bit was thick and it was difficult to move through it.

When Da came in from our fields for lunch, he told Willie and me that our job that afternoon was to drive the sheep into the shade.

"Why, Da? Won't they go on their own?" Willie pestered.

"They ought to, but as there isna much shade to begin wi' we need to point the way there." His voice sounded tired. Claire looked up from the food she was serving and watched him closely before coming over to set Da's plate in front of him.

She sat, then rested her hand on his thigh. "What's happened Jamie?" Her voice was low and calm, the same voice she used when baby Ian fussed or when Willie had an awful splinter in his foot and she took it out.

"We lost two o' the sheep," Da revealed solemnly. "They dinna handle the heat well." 

I can't say for sure what happened next. Claire stood, a lost look on her face. Her breath was shallow, her face pale in spite of the soaring temperatures.

“Water,” she whispered in a voice I hadn’t ever heard before. “All they need is water. All they need-” Claire’s voice broke off and Da grabbed her upper arms, looking her straight in the face.

“Go get Claire a glass of water, Willie. Bree, a cool cloth.” He said it shortly and in a demanding tone. I knew he sounded demanding because he was scared. It was as if Claire was looking straight through him.

Then the glass stood untouched on the kitchen table as did the cloth.

And finally she began to weep and Da took her onto his lap and held her as if she were small as Willie.

And Willie and I watched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, @happytoobserve!
> 
> The whole story is written now, guys! I finished the final chapter this past weekend!


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire's birthday dawns bright and clear!

The day of Claire’s birthday celebration dawned hot and clear as every day for the memorable past seemed to. 

“Are they here yet?” Willie hollered, scampering down the stairs into the kitchen.

Claire, still in her housecoat, turned to him in puzzlement. “Is  _ who _ here, Willie?”

“Everyone,” he said, rather unhelpfully.

It was at that moment that Da walked in through the front door.

Usually covered in bits of straw from milking the cows or wood chips from splitting logs, he was dressed in his finest. He wore his kilt and his hair was  _ just so _ , so that the curls sprung. I heard Claire catch her breath and turned in time to see her blush before she turned once again to stir the breakfast porridge.

“Who is coming, Jamie?” she asked, suspicion coloring her clipped tone.

“Ye have time to get ready,” he began, knowing that she liked to be prepared and never caught off guard. “Our friends will be here wi’in the hour.” He paused and waited until she looked at him again. “To celebrate you. Celebrate your birthday.”

She pursed her lips in a small, pleased way.

“Happy birthday, Claire,” he said, simply.

Claire twirled around from her task and threw herself into Da’s arms, kissing him soundly, making Willie giggle at the exuberance.

I stood and took Claire’s spot at the stove. “Go on,” I told her. “I’m ready. You go on and I’ll take care of things down here.” I gestured to my own dress, my good one, and then to the porridge.

Claire spun once more, lifting my chin and -this time- planting a kiss on my forehead. Then she whispered in my ear.

“How did I get so lucky with you?”

My heart felt full in a way it hadn’t in a long while.

It wasn’t very long before friends began to arrive. Da and Claire greeted them all, both of them smiling and laughing more than they had been lately. Willie flitted around, talking to our neighbors and playing with all the children and finally running around with Elphin and Bran at his heels.

Then Ian began to sing while another neighbor got his bodhran from the wagon. Someone else had a fiddle. Jenny grabbed Ruby and Pearl and began to dance, Da grabbed Claire and pulled her along. Hair and ribbons were flying, dresses were twirling, men were taking off their vests and rolling up their sleeves to stay cooler. Before I knew it, it seemed as if everyone was dancing. 

Sometimes Da told us stories of Scotland; stories of when he was small. He spoke of parties at Hogmany, when there was food and dancing galore.

I imagined this is what it would be like, the dancing at Hogmany, with everyone celebrating.

For a while that day, everyone forgot where they were. For a while, everyone was happy. 

* * *

When evening came and all was calm once more, I gave Claire my present. Willie had already gone to bed, tired as he was from the day. I was in my nightgown but had come back down the stairs to give the gift.

Claire and Da were on the front porch. She’d said they did that to enjoy the “cool of the night air” even though it felt nearly the same to me. But I knew they talked as well. They were talking now, in low tones, voices soft and whispery just like the sound of a gentle wind. They stopped when I came out the door and Da stood, walked over and bent to kiss the top of my head, then left me there with Claire.

She held out one of her slender hands, indicating the chair Da had left empty beside her own rocking chair.

I sat and held my gift out to her.

“What’s this?” she asked, peering at me through the falling night. Even though it was too dark to see the details, I could picture the look on her face. Her eyes would be bright and inquisitive, her chin tilted down the way the little birds in the fields tilted their heads when they were listening.

“Your birthday present. I’ve been working on it for a while,” I shrugged.

She took the journal, my book about our life since she had come to us, and ran her hand across the smooth cover. Tenderly, almost reverently, she cracked it open, pages fanning out. Claire angled the book so the light from inside the house spilled out the door and onto the page. Then she began to read aloud.

“When my mother…” She stopped suddenly and looked at me, eyes bright and serious.

I smiled back at her, not speaking.

She took a deep breath and began to read once more. “‘When my mother, Claire, came to us, she came by train. She wore a yellow bonnet. I didn’t know I would love her, but Willie knew all along. Da didn’t know either, but he does. I’ve seen the way he looks at her and I saw him cry when they got married.’” She paused then asked me, “Did he really? Cry, I mean.”

“He did,” I said simply. He loved her. 

She nodded slowly then looked back at the page where I had written our story.

“‘My mother, Claire, came from Maine where they have an ocean. Sometimes I can tell that she is thinking of her old home. She doesn’t have her name written in the land like Da. She tries to love it, but she remembers.’”

She closed the book and pressed it to her heart, closing her eyes. She rocked her chair.

“You like it,” I sighed happily, knowing that she did.

“I do like it, Bree.” Then she stood up and wrapped me in her arms in place of the book, right next to her heart.

When I finally went inside to go to bed, I left Claire standing on the porch. I was on the stairs when I turned around and saw them. Claire outside the screen door, Da inside. Their hands touching with the fine mesh between them. And Claire whispered.

“Where’s the glass to measure the rain?”

I paused to listen, but Da didn’t answer. I knew he had put it aside for the party and hadn’t put it back out.

“Please, Jamie,” she whispered to Da. “Put it back. It should be there when it rains.” Instead of sounding as if she was pleading, she sounded hopeful, like the joy of the day had lasted until now. 

I know she and Da stayed that way, whispering, standing, touching, while I went to bed.

I woke in the middle of the night. Through my window I could see it. Willie’s glass. It was there on the fence post, shining in the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @happytoobserve as well as all the readers!


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A painful chapter in the lives of the Frasers and Murrays.

It was the very next day that Ian and Jenny packed their wagon and left.

Their well was dry. They couldn’t stay.

“We’ll be back, Jamie. I willnae leave this land,” Ian declared staunchly, eyes dark. I knew he and Da had talked about this day, were it ever to come, but to have it happen was more difficult than merely discussing the possibility.

“And I’ll be here,” Da replied. His broad shoulders were thrown back and he stood tall and determined. He and Ian slapped one another on the back, not saying the word “goodbye” at all. 

Jenny and Claire embraced. Tears made trails on Jenny’s cheeks like the tracks of a wagon driving through the prairie dust. She promised Claire that they’d all be back soon, that it wouldn’t be long. She promised that the rain would come and things would be back to what they were.

We took the Murray’s sheep and put them with ours. There was momentary protest, the sheep bleating pathetically as they attempted to avoid proximity with our own. The sheep wouldn’t be able to make the trip and they would be fine with our flock once they became used to each other. Sam, the cat, had stayed at the farm, their farm, unwilling to travel with them. Claire assured Jenny that we would feed him when he finally came around to our place.

That day seemed longer than a day ought to be. More than once I saw Da look at the sun, this time it wasn’t to look for clouds or to guess how hot it would become. He was checking how high it was in the sky. It was as if they day lasted the length of two. The Murray's departure tinged everything with an unusual type of grief; a sorrow that couldn't be fully experienced since the loss wasn't intended to be permanent. Something that couldn’t be mourned unless those mourning conceded that the separation was forever. Because it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

That evening after supper as night began to fall, heat lightning crisscrossed the sky, cutting it into pieces like shards of broken glass. I could feel the charge in the air as it raised the hairs on my arms, all the while lighting up the darkened sky. In a split second it would streak across the sky’s canopy overhead, lighting up everything with a brightness that left spots burning on the backs of my closed eyelids the next second.

And through it all there was no rain.

* * *

As dusk fell _ it _ happened again.

"Fire!"

This time Da yelled the word, his voice booming from the barnyard, carrying into the house where Willie, Claire, and I were cleaning our dishes from supper, scraping off remnants of food instead of soaking them as we might have if water was plentiful.

I could almost see what that one word, _ fire _, did. 

One word that broke Claire's heart as all the sorrow of the past months etched onto her face and once. 

One word that made Willie, bold and impulsive as he was, shudder in fear.

One word that I somehow knew would, this time, change everything.

It was the barn, the aged, dry wood ablaze, catching and spreading like tinder when one started a small fire with a flint and blew the tiny embers until they caught. This time the flames were not small though. They were lighting up the sky with an odd, orange glow that cast wavy shadows. We ran toward Da who was getting the animals away from the rapidly growing inferno.

Claire grabbed us both, me and Willie, and screamed over the roar for us to stay on the porch. I was about to tell her “We can help,” when her long fingers dug into my upper arm where she had grabbed and her hand trembled.

"Stay there!" she demanded, more aggressively than necessary. Then, "I need you to be safe." Her eyes always spoke more than her words alone did and this time they _ begged _.

Ruaidh came from the barn with his mother, chased out by Da. Claire waved her apron at the chickens who were inside their coop near the barn and they scampered away toward the house. Adso was far from the barn, appearing to be observing, perhaps sensing the danger as animals often did.

Sunset and flames colored the sky. Da and Claire didn't even attempt to save the barn, though I could see the struggle in both their bodies as they turned toward the well, almost leaning to run toward it. Knowing there wasn’t enough. Then they stood there, the fire casting those eerie shadows on their faces. Finally Claire turned to Da who pulled her close.

And we watched the barn burn.

* * *

The sun came up in the morning as it always did. But everything had changed.

The barn stood only as a skeleton would. A corpse. Charred remains that still smoldered and smoked. Da mentioned that we would all have to take turns watching until the site cooled.

The animals seemed unperturbed by the whole turn of events, milling around the barnyard or out in the field. As long as they were fed, it didn’t seem to matter to them. Even the Murray’s sheep, aside from the aggressive Hughie, had already settled in with our own.

As Willie and I began our chores, Da took Claire’s hand and she rose from her chair at the breakfast table and followed him out the door. They did that often. Da would just take her away without a word. Sometimes they would walk the fields, others they would sit in the barnyard. Sometimes they would dance together like I had seen them do as I looked out my bedroom window. And other times they disappeared into the barn. Today they stood, I could see them, right on the spot where they’d danced even though there was no dancing today.

Da turned and spoke and though I couldn’t have heard him if I tried, I could almost tell what he was saying just by watching their faces, his determined and hers sorrowful. “No,” Claire’s mouth moved, then again she said it and turned away from him.

I abruptly looked back at the stack of dishes I had in my hands as I set them down for Willie to help clean.

“What are they doing, Bree?” His eyes were wide and curious.

“Talking, Willie. They’re talking.” I didn’t want to discuss what it must be about.

“Why are they talking, Bree? Why can’t they talk in here?”

“Sometimes grownups talk away from children when they’re making serious decisions. There are times when they don’t want us to hear until they’ve worked things through,” I sighed, trying to explain without divulging my suspicions.

“And then they’ll tell us?” he asked yet another question. 

“I’m sure they will soon enough,” I said. And I was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing this for months. Months. And @happytoobserve has been reading for months as well. So while most readers have been begging for the next chapter and have had to wait a week, she has had to wait ages (though now she's read the end too!!!) I'm grateful to her for sticking around, even through the drought <3
> 
> Thank you to all the readers leaving comments both her and on Tumblr. I'm not keeping up over there, but know that when I do visit I see your comments there too. I appreciate every single one of them! Hang in there because we're almost to the end and the "happily ever after" of it all.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Claire talk to the children about their next move dealing with the drought.

They had told us at supper, Claire and Da had. They told us that we were going to Maine until the rain came. We sat at our table as we always did, Willie and I opposite of one another, Da and Claire on the other two sides, hands joined for prayer and then passing food around. They told us at the close of the meal.

“But who will take care of Elphin and Bran? Who will watch Ruaidh? And who will tell us when the kittens are here?” Willie’s questions came in a typical flurry, though it was tinged with an abnormal degree of anxiousness.

Claire sighed and stood up from the table, smoothing her apron and gathering up the empty glasses and used cutlery, avoiding eye contact.

“I’ll be here,” Da said bluntly. “I willna leave the land nor our animals.” He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder to comfort me and the other on Willie’s head to ruffle his hair like he always did. 

All at once it happened. It was like that moment when I knew, really _ knew _ , that Claire was now my mother. I knew that Da, even though he was _ my _Da, couldn’t fix everything. He couldn’t fix this. And I wished I was small and young like Willie who thought that if Da toyed with his hair playfully and said the right words, that everything was like it always was and would be just fine. 

But I was older. I knew better. And my eyes burned as did my throat.

I nodded and swallowed hard, gathering the rest of the dishes and taking them to Claire. I stood beside her and she didn’t look at me. She didn’t reach out to me either. She knew too that this would be hard no matter what, so she let me stand by her until I could turn back to Willie and Da again.

“How will we go?” My voice sounded softer than usual, as if it was tired of fighting the land upon which we lived. Perhaps I _ was _tired of it. 

“By train,” Claire replied, turning back and sitting down once more. I spied a tear sparkling on her eyelashes but didn’t say anything.

“We’ll go by train, the way that I came, and then we’ll stay with Uncle Lamb. You’ll meet him, and the aunts, and they will all adore you,” she looked both to me and to Willie.

“And the whole while, I’ll miss ye,” Da said. “But we’ve the letters.”

“Aye,” Claire mimicked Da and his Scots response in a teasing tone. “We’ve written letters before.” She sighed and smiled. It _ was _a real smile in spite of the sorrow that clouded her eyes. “It was letters that brought us all together.”

* * *

The train was noisy and I didn’t care for it at all though Willie was fascinated and pestered the engineer with questions at every stop. 

As we traveled I spent most of my time reading or writing. At times I read aloud to Willie and Claire, entertaining them with chapters from a book that had come from Uncle Lamb some months ago. There were also parts of my birthday gift to Claire that I read out loud as well. It made me feel a bit closer to home when I did so.

Willie spent most of his time scratching letters onto a slate that he held in his lap. We took turns correcting and teaching him, Claire and I. Though it was sloppy, Willie had mostly mastered his letters though he could never remember the sounds that went along with them. He didn’t seem to miss home at all, but was eager for our grand adventure.

Claire was mostly quiet. She listened to me read, knitting as she did so, and took turns working with Willie. I could tell she was sad. Dark circles ringed here eyes and stood out from her pale skin, dotted with freckles. Several times when Willie and I were quiet, she fell asleep while she watched the land fly by out the window.

One thing I learned was that it was not just our land that was dry. It took days before the landscape changed from brown to green. Even in the most lush and vibrant times I had never seen our land look like the places we began to travel through. The trees were taller and fuller, the underbrush was covered in dense leaves, and the grass was thick. _ Green _ didn’t seem to be _ enough _to explain the color that I saw. I tried to write in my journal so that I wouldn’t forget what it was like when I finally sat down to compose a letter to Da, but the words I knew weren’t enough to describe what was before me.

“Will we be there soon?” Willie asked several times each day.

Claire threw her head back and laughed at him. It was one of the only times when that real smile flitted across her face. “Soon enough, Willie.” She would say each time. “And no faster for the asking!”

Finally, we were there. Maine.

We peered out of the windows of the train to catch a first glimpse. The streets were bustling with so many people. Women wore dresses that were much fancier and far less reasonable than I was used to seeing with stylish hats pinned atop their upswept hair. Men in suspenders, hair slicked back, walked about the town as well. Many of them drove automobiles which, though we had _ seen _ the contraptions before, Willie and I had never been so near them nor had we seen so many!

“Hold my hand, Willie,” Claire insisted as we stepped off the train, knowing that he was prone to wander when confronted with something interesting or distracting. We stood on the platform for just a moment. Claire closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath before her eyes flew open at a shouted greeting from one of the automobiles.

“As I live and breath! Is that you, Claire Beauchamp?” A portly man in a straw boater hat began to walk toward us and Claire’s face split into a smile.

“Yes,” she replied cheerily. “Though it’s Fraser now and not Beauchamp. And these are my children, Brianna and William.” She released Willie, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other on mine as she introduced us. “And this,” she gestured briefly toward the man, “Is Ned.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said quickly with Willie.

“And the young man?” Ned asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Jamie has stayed to mind the farm.” She quieted. “He will stay there until the rain comes and we can return.”

Ned only nodded, then abruptly he shrugged as if shaking himself to attention. “Well, I can’t leave you and your family standing here. Come, come. I’ll get you to your uncle’s house.”

_ Bustle _was a word I had previously used only to describe Jenny Murray, but this man seemed to do just that. In a flurry, he had sought out our belongings and loaded them into the back of his automobile then ushered us inside of the contraption where Willie’s eyes bugged out in awe.

“Have you never seen an automobile then?” he asked my brother.

“Aye,” Willie said, gobsmacked.

“And would you like to drive one?” Ned asked him, winking at me to show he wasn’t serious.

“No!” Willie exclaimed, scooting so close to Claire that he nearly climbed on to her lap and making the rest of us laugh.

“Then I suppose I should take care of business and get you home, Claire Beauchamp Fraser.” He nodded emphatically.

We were going to meet Uncle Lamb. We were going to see Claire’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe you're all still reading and leaving such gentle, kind comments in spite of the drought. I feel like we're a little community watching this unfold and encouraging one another to hang on for the rain to come!
> 
> Thank especially for every comment that you leave for me, @happytoobserve. Whether gentle corrections or story-related exclamations, I enjoy reading what you have to say on each chapter.


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maine. Claire's Maine is green, something they haven't seen in a long time.

The town flew by as the automobile raced along toward Uncle Lamb’s house. Toward Claire’s old house.

“He’ll be out for the day,” she had explained to us as Ned’s fancy contraption roared to life making it too loud for a conversation. “But you can meet the aunts first. They’ll be next door at their own house or in Uncle Lamb’s making sure it’s tidy and that he has something to eat for supper.

Trees. Grass. Hills in the distance. Everything was blanketed in green growth.

Then I saw it. Claire’s sea.

“Is that the…” Willie began as the car slowed. He started to stand and Claire pulled him back to sit beside her. He never finished his sentence but rather gawked and stared.

Light sparkled and shone on the water, twinkling as the sunshine hit the edge of the waves right before they rolled over and broke. There was sound - a crash, a hiss - both noisy and peaceful at the same time. Gulls flew overhead, shrieking to one another as they floated on the breeze that funneled up from the beach.

It smelled of salt and fish and air that had been washed clean. I breathed deeply and I felt Claire do the same next to me.

“Yes, Willie,” Claire answered the unspoken question. “That’s the sea.”

“But it’s big,” he said, stating the blatantly obvious in his shocked state.

“Rather large, yes,” she replied and I could hear the smile in her words without even turning to look at her.

“I can taste it,” I said. “I  _ knew  _ it was salt water. I know the difference. But I didn’t expect to  _ taste  _ it.”

“Mmmhmm,” came her murmured reply. 

Then Willie slid out of the automobile and Claire pulled me along behind her as I momentarily stalled.

“What will they think of us?” I whispered, my soft voice sounding something like the hiss of water through the rocks on the beach.

Then she turned to me with her wide eyes and her pale, tired face that was suddenly alight in spite of the underlying sorrow. “They’ll love you, Bree. Just as I do.” And she held out her arms to me as I wound mine tightly about her waist. 

I wept for the first time since we had been told we were leaving home.

* * *

The fence surrounding the house was white and made with boards instead of barbed wire or split rails like we often used at the farm. Inside the fence, the house was surrounded by greenery. Several small raised beds stood at the end of the green lawn and it was apparent that they were thriving merely by glancing at the growing foliage and brightly colored blooms. Roses in many colors, not just like our one rosebush at home, grew near the house and even trailed over trellises. Ivy climbed a tall brick chimney, a stark contrast in green overlaying the red.

An absolutely enormous dog roamed the lawn and Willie gawked at him. “I thought you said you didn’t have a dog,” he said accusingly to Claire.

“He’s Ermenegilda’s,” she replied, laughing at the expression on his face.

Then Claire opened the front gate and nudged us through, Willie and I, before latching it behind her. She was just about to open the front door when it swung open.

A woman who was rather wider than she was tall stepped out, her mouth wide. She brought her hands first to her round cheeks in surprise and then reached out to Claire to embrace her. They looked quite the pair, the short woman dressed in bright colors, a wrap around her head and skin the color of delicious chocolate and Claire, plain and tall. Though Claire’s arms and hands were tan, her face was still pale and white, but she smiled. Oh she smiled.

“Arabella,” she said, the name tumbling from her.

“Oh, my Claire. Dear one. You’ve come home!”

Arabella cupped Claire’s face in her hands a moment before noticing that Willie and I stood there and Ned still stood near his automobile outside the gate.

Claire quickly began introductions. “My children, Brianna and William.”

“Children!” Arabella exclaimed and actually clapped her hands in glee. “How we’ve needed children around this old place! Now come, come in and get settled.” She shooed us all in doors then cupped her hands to her mouth to shout to Ned to “ _ bring them bags inside the house, Neddy Gowan! _ ” 

Willie giggled at that.

“Where are the other aunts?” he inquired, eyebrows quirked like Da’s sometimes did.

“Out,” Arabella said simply and she shooed us, again, into the kitchen. She had plates of cookies and glasses of fresh milk in front of us in seconds as if she had known we would be there before we even arrived. “Lamb is out too. They always find their way back for supper somehow though,” she smiled. “And you,” she nodded at Claire. “You’ve come back to us too.”

“I have,” Claire replied. “But just for a time.”

“Until the rain comes,” Willie explained. “It will happen soon.” He happily stuck another crumble of cookie in his mouth. Arabella slid another one onto his plate. Claire rolled her eyes playfully at the excess.

“The drought,” I began. “The one we wrote about in our letters, well, there’s still no rain. First the wells started to run dry and we’ve had fires. Now there’s just nothing left aside from the land itself and our animals.” I sighed looking out the window at all the water in the sea, at all the green on the land. “And the rain still doesn’t come.”

“But it will,” said my brother.

Arabella nodded slowly, understanding on her face. It wasn’t just letters filled with hyperbole, it was real and we were real.

“And your Jamie,” Arabelle continued. “Will he come then?”

“No,” Claire said softly. “He will stay with the land.” I stood then and leaned close to Claire as she sat in her chair, bending to rest my head atop her pillowy curls. He  _ would  _ stay with the land. But also, Willie had to be right. The rain would come. Someday.  _ Soon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all the cheerleaders who have supported this fic along the way, particularly @happytoobserve!


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willie loves Maine, Bree is torn, and Claire seems as if she's waiting for something.

Willie loved Maine. After breakfast each morning he would go down to the water with Uncle Lamb to swim. They would emerge covered in gooseflesh, shivering and shuddering with cold. One of the aunts would wait on the rocks that lined the shore, holding a blanket to wrap around Willie and a mug of steaming tea or broth for him to drink. His teeth would chatter so loudly that I could hear them, but he would happily sit, ensconced in the blanket and sipping at his mug.

I often wrote, either in my journal or to Da, much preferring that to being frozen by Claire’s sea. I spent a good portion of time in the garden too, slowly beginning to find the peace that Claire claimed to find there. Gradually, I began to appreciate new life and growth in ways I had taken for granted, began to see uses and ways to implement herbs that had seemed ordinary before.

Claire herself rarely came down to join us in the early morning, but most often came along after breakfast, mug of tea in hand and shawl about her shoulders. The shawl was knitted and I knew it was from when Da had taught her how to clickit for the first time. Even after nearly a month to settle in, Claire still seemed tired somehow. As if she was quieter, more on edge, and not quite herself. I had assumed that she would settle in to this home, but there was a sense of unease about her instead, as if she wasn’t complete, as if she was waiting for something.

There were some days when I felt like I would never be happy again until the rain came. But the aunts _ did _make me laugh. We sang with the aunts, songs that Claire had taught us when she first came to the prairie. We cooked and baked as well, learning new recipes from them and thrilling in all the ingredients that were at hand. Fresh seafood could be found any time, but with the rain there was produce as well. I’d had dried fish and that which lived in freshwater but there were other things such as lobster that were quite foreign. 

Uncle Lamb was both gentle and smart. Sometimes the way he carried himself reminded me of Claire. She stood tall and proud, as did her uncle, in spite of the fact that both of them claimed the be “_ plain _ and tall.” 

Today, instead of writing I was daydreaming. I often wondered what people thought when they looked at me the way I watched Claire and her uncle. Did they see the ways I was like my Da? People often commented how Willie was his miniature, but aside from my hair, I didn’t resemble him greatly. What of those who knew my mam? There were few who knew her to begin with and none had ever mentioned that I reminded them of her. What of Claire? Would anyone ever mistakenly think I was hers? I could imagine a smile on her face and the touch of her hands on my shoulders even as I daydreamed about it. Someone would say “How your daughter seems to have inherited such-and-such from you” and how she would reply “Of course she has! How could she not have inherited _ that?_” in pride.

Willie’s shout interrupted my reverie.

“Watch me, Claire!” he trilled above the noise of the pounding surf where he was submerged to the neck.

Claire was barefoot, walking slowly down the flat rocks that formed a gentle stairway down to the beach where we were. Her face was pale, but she had a smile that reached her eyes. Her hair blew loose in the wind.

“Go on then!” she called out to my brother.

He flipped, throwing himself into the water like a harbor seal, disappearing under the surface and reappearing some distance away. His hair was plastered down to his scalp though his curls quickly began to come back to life as the water dripped off.

She smiled at Willie as he continued to frolic and then she sat beside me on my rock.

“Daydreaming?” she asked me softly.

I sighed. “Yes.”

“About what, Bree?”

“Just things,” I shrugged, not knowing how to put my thoughts into words. She wrapped one end of her shawl over my shoulders as I scooted closer to her.

“Sometimes daydreams are all we have,” she explained gently. “Or dreams. Sometimes those are what sees us through until that time when things are right again.”

“What of letters?” I asked. “Can’t words -writing to one another or talking- can’t those see you through until it’s right?” I pressed. Da had written to us as he’d promised. He’d told us of Elphin and Bran chasing geese and of Adso and the four new kittens. But though letters were what brought us all together they didn’t seem quite enough any more.

“Some things can’t be written down in letters, Bree,” she said, cupping my chin and turning my face toward hers. “But nothing can stop us from dreaming."

* * *

That night, in Uncle Lamb’s house, in Claire’s house, Willie had a dream. His was a bad dream though, a nightmare. His wail woke me and sent me flying down the hallway only to find Claire already there, cradling him against her chest as he cried, sniffling pathetically.

My heart slowed and I climbed onto the bed with them, gently running my hand up and down Willie’s back.

“It wasn’t real, Willie,” I whispered soothingly. “It was all a dream.”

“It _ seemed _real,” he sputtered between a giant sniff and a swipe of a hand across his eyes.

“What was it, lovey?” Claire asked in that gentle voice she used with Wee Ian and with Willie when he was fratchety.

“I dreamt of our farm,” he hiccuped. “I dreamt of Da.”

My brow furrowed and I looked over my brother’s head at Claire whose expression matched my own.

“Did that make you miss things? Miss-” she paused, taking a breath. “-Miss your da?” she asked, tucking hair behind Willie’s ear. His hair was growing longer again, more like Da’s instead of cropped so close.

“Aye, it did,” Willie blurted. “But tha’s no’ it!” He sounded like a proper Scot when he was upset. “I dreamed that Da was looking for us but he couldna find us. And we were here, singing and writing to him, but he couldna find us.” He buried his head into Claire’s dressing gown once again.

When I finally went back to bed I had the same dream. Da called out for us, his voice sounding thin on the wind of the prairie, but we couldn’t hear him calling. And he couldn’t find us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have to pinch myself (ok, not actually pinch myself...but figuratively!) sometimes when I read all the comments from everyone. I feel incredibly blessed to have such enthusiastic readers, kind commenters, and the most encouraging help in getting these chapters ready. Thanks for joining me on this journey, clan!
> 
> Next week chapter 12 posts on Wednesday and I ended up making the epilogue longer and breaking it into a new chapter which will post on Thursday. So, two chapters for you to read. Double the Fraser fics!


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is rain in Maine.

****

I heard a soft noise in my sleepy state that reminded me of wind through prairie grass. Slowly I rolled over, my arms emerging from beneath the covers and stretching overhead.

“Guess what?”

It was Claire, standing in the doorway, her hair absolutely wild from sleep. She still looked exhausted though it was morning, but there was a gleam in her eyes. I heard excitement in her voice, her words faster and spoken with more inflection and I was reminded of when she woke me to meet Ruaidh.

“It’s raining.”

Two simple words and I was flying out of bed, yelling Willie’s name, then running full force down the stairs and straight out the door into it.

It wasn’t that my mind thought rain in Maine meant rain on the prairie. I knew it didn’t work like that. It was only that it had been  _ so long  _ since feeling those droplets pelt down, splattering or dripping off my head and my nose. I wanted to feel it soak clear to my scalp. I wanted it to wash things clean and fresh. Willie seemed to want the same but he expressed it in a much louder fashion, whooping and hollering until Uncle Lamb came and stood on the porch. Even the aunts in their house across the lawn came out and stood on theirs.

“Ought you to let them run about in the rain like that?” I heard Uncle Lamb ask, sounding genuinely confused in spite of the fact that he had raised Claire.

She smiled and walked right into the rain with us.

I remembered that when we were at home Claire and Da would dance in the dust when they thought we weren’t watching. Now Claire twirled us around, our feet slipping on the wet grass, as we laughed and frolicked. 

We received letters from Da that day. In the sitting room on the fancy furniture we all gathered and heard what Da had written. Willie sat on a tufted footstool, leaning forward eagerly with his elbows balanced on his knees. Uncle Lamb gently puffed his pipe, nodding every so often to something that was said. In an upholstered chair with arms like curlicues, Claire had her legs drawn up and tucked beside her. Her eyes were closed as she listened, but a serene smile curled her lips.

“‘Still no rain,’” I read, “‘But it is cooler now. Tell Claire that she will need to do battle with the dogs as they have attempted to take up residence on her side of the bed at night. The cows continue to do well. The kittens are full of mischief. The farm seems empty without you. All my love, Da.’” 

I looked up from the letter around the room. Willie was already unfolding his letter for me to read aloud. But Claire opened her eyes just a sliver and glanced at me, her smile changing to a smirk. 

“When you reply, you tell your Da that I’m ready to come back and do battle against those ridiculous creatures he calls dogs. Ready to come back  _ home.” _

Time passed. We could feel autumn coming too, even though it felt different in Maine. The mornings were often blanketed in fog, the days often held a crispness to the air. When we left our windows open at night, Claire would close them before morning, often doing so when Willie woke from one of his nightmares.

The leaves went from a bright and vivid green quite suddenly to deep reds and yellows. School was going to begin soon.

“Would you like to visit the school?” Uncle Lamb asked one morning at breakfast. Willie and I were eating hotcakes, while Uncle Lamb and Claire were slowly drinking tea.

Willie stiffened at the question. Since we had arrived he had been full of curiosity and enthusiasm for everything that was new. Gradually that had faded though. He still swam with Claire’s uncle and often went fishing with him. He loved to walk into town and see the automobiles and the general store that was full of things we didn’t have in our own mercantile. But the newness had worn off.

“I like it here,” Willie said slowly. “I like  _ you  _ and the aunts. But I don’t want to stay here or go to school here. I want to go home.” His lips drew into a pout.

Uncle Lamb, ever patient and unflappable, nodded and shrugged. “I suppose I will be tutoring you then.” And that was that.

* * *

Mornings began earlier then, with breakfast and school work before swimming and fishing. Willie learned letters and sums as well as how to repair nets and set crab pots. I learned composition, mathematics, Latin roots and embroidery (like a “proper” lady). The remainder of the day passed much the same as it had since we arrived and we always seemed to end up on the beach as the sun set.

Willie was a ways ahead, balancing on some slippery rocks instead of walking through the sand as we did. My hand was in Claire’s, comfortable and safe. 

“That bird there,” I gestured at the small creature showing Claire which I meant. “Is that a plover?” At her nod, I continued. “Uncle Lamb said they were special. He said when you were small your father taught you a poem about them.”

“He did,” she murmured in response, a contemplative look on her face as if she was grasping at a memory just outside her reach. “And he added a bit about me. I remember being so pleased that there was a poem about me that I didn’t even realize he had created the additional verse.”

“That sounds like Willie,” I smiled.

“Yes,” Claire laughed. “He does tend to assume that many things revolve around him. Most small children do, I think. It changes with more children or as they grow up.” We walked silently until she began to recite, her voice dancing on the sea breeze.

“The plovers fly and cry around

Unguided, nestless, without bourn*

Wandering and impetuous

Turning and flying to return.

“My Claire, she always flies around

Unguided, nestless, without bourn

Wandering and impetuous

Turning and flying to return.”**

“He said, my father did, I was like a plover, flying about but that someday I would find a place to which I would return,” Claire explained to me softly.

It was then that we noticed Willie had stopped and was shading his eyes, staring at something behind us. He let out a  _ whoop _ and leaped off the rock where he’d been perched and came barreling toward us.

Up on the bluff overlooking the beach there stood a man. He was tall and broad shouldered. Even with a hat on I could see the red hair poking out from under it.

I’m not sure, but I think we all must have run to one another because before I knew it, I was stuck between Da and Claire and I felt their beating hearts. I smelled the sea and the prairie.

“It rained.” That was all Da said, but those two words were so much more than just that.

“I thought you’d never come, Jamie,” Caire said in reply. I turned my head, just enough to see her face and saw tears streaming down her cheeks. “Never.”

“It rained,” was all he said. Then he kissed our red heads, mine and Willie’s, and sent us back up to the house.

When we got up to the bluff I turned around to look once more at Da and Claire, my mother.

They thought we weren’t looking, but Willie and I saw them kiss and begin to dance on the beach leaving prints in the sand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bourn is Old French for a boundary line  
**the poem (aside from the Claire verse) is Plovers by Padraic Colum, and Irishman who lived from 1881-1972
> 
> To all the lovely readers who commented last week but who I haven't gotten to thank yet, I truly do appreciate you all. I've read every single comment!
> 
> To my help along the way, happytoobserve, a giant thank you!
> 
> And tune in tomorrow (Thursday) for the epilogue!


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie's chapter and Bree's conclusion.

Jamie

_ There are some things that can’t be written in letters.  _

_ I had told Claire and the children that we would write, and we had. But Claire had recently written that letters were insufficient in several ways. I tended to agree.  _

_ “There are some things that can’t be written in letters.” _

_ One such thing was that the rain had come. It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t write and tell them, but rather that I was tired of living without them. I would go to them, find them, and bring them back before a letter would reach them. Words weren’t enough. Action was required. _

_ The train trip caused my wame to churn. I stared at the scenery willing myself to think of my wife, Bree, and Willie to keep my mind on better things. _

_ Between Claire and the children, they had painted a vivid picture of Maine, but words couldn’t rival reality. Words couldn’t let you  _ smell  _ the sea or  _ feel  _ the mist that drifted off it. _

_ I don’t know that I would ever have words to describe the thunderous beating of my heart when I saw them on the beach below the bluff. _

_ Bree and Willie looked much the same as they always did. I’m sure Claire would have used some quaint phrase such as “kissed by the sea” or some such thing to describe the subtle differences. Maybe they were a wee bit taller though only a couple of months had passed. Their hair seemed lighter. But Willie played with his typical reckless abandon while Bree moved as if walking a tightrope between playful child and respectable young lady. _

_ Claire seemed different.  _

_ I thought she would  _ fit _ . The thought scared me, if I were completely honest. I thought she would seem fully and absolutely at home, settled. It may have been her posture or the tilt of her head, but she almost seemed to hold herself separate from her surroundings. _

_ It was William who spotted me and I’m afraid I ran like someone much less dignified than I ought to behave as. The children, my bairns, they crashed against me speaking and grasping all at once, then Claire joined with a smile so bright on her face that I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d begun to glow like a lightning bug. _

_ Then, with the children sent back to the house, we began the business of catching up. Not as much as we would later, but as much as you can with the one you love when you’ve been absent. Catching up in that way that you do without words or with only the most important ones. _

_ “It rained,” I said once more, feeling a bit foolish as I did. _

_ “I thought you’d never come,” she replied. She began to walk along the shore, her shore, grasping my hand as I followed her. “I just never expected it.  _ Eventually a letter _ , I thought. But to see you here,” she sighed. “Jamie.” _

_ “Some things cannae be written in a letter.” _

_ She turned gently away from me and I thought she was looking at something. Maybe she was. _

_ “You’re right.” She turned back, her hand cupped low and protective on her belly and tears hanging from her lashes. “Some things can’t be written in a letter. I knew almost as soon as we got here. I meant to write and tell you, but I never could. It didn’t seem right.” _

_ “A bairn,” I whispered in awe, stepping close to her, wrapping my arms around her again then dropping to my knees and whispering gaelic to the babe, our child, growing in her belly, making Claire laugh through her tears as she threaded her fingers through my hair. _

_ “Yes. A baby.”  _

_ She  _ was  _ different. She was different because she knew her place was no longer here, no matter how much she had once loved it. I recognized it because my soul too longed for the prairie. _

_ “Let’s go home, Jamie. Go home and make things ready so our baby can be born on the prairie.” _

  
  
  


Bree

_ The night Da came to us was wonderful. Claire beamed in a way she hadn’t in months as she held Da’s hand. They told us that we would be going home, to the prairie. They told us that come spring, we’d have a new baby. _

_ I think Claire saw the fear in my eyes as I remembered my mam, because that night when she kissed my forehead and tucked the covers in around me she told me things were different.  _

_ “I’m strong and healthy,” she said. “The baby is healthy. I won’t leave you, Bree.” _

_ I’ll never know why I trusted her when she said that, but I did. I do. _

_ Going home was as wonderful as I had dreamed it would be. The dogs barked out their welcome. Our new barn was there and Ruaidh was giant. The kittens were as mischievous as Da had claimed they were in his letters. Adso had missed Claire terribly and stayed near her for days. _

_ It had rained only a few times, still. It was not enough for things to grow well yet, but enough for there to be promise of new life to come.  _

_ The first morning we were back I went out to do my chores. _

_ Claire had written her name in the land, right there off the porch where she and Da had sat talking late into the night. Each letter was scraped deep enough to reach the damp soil below, so her name wouldn’t blow away in the dust. It was what Willie had tried to do for her, not knowing that you can’t do that for anyone else. Now she had chosen. _

_ The stream was flowing, the river would begin to flow soon. As fall turned to winter the snow would come and then new life would arrive in the springtime. Trees and flowers would come to life. Da and Claire’s new baby would arrive. There are times when Willie is terribly foolish and silly but he does say it best.  _ Our  _ baby. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been one of the most enjoyable journeys for me as I wrote and posted. All of you readers have been so encouraging, uplifting, and excited to read and I have loved all your reactions and your gratitude. Thank you for coming along with me on the trip!
> 
> Happytoobserve, I can't thank you enough. It's really hard for me to ask for help. It's even harder for me to take the next step and accept it. Your patient and gracious approach makes sharing my unprepared chapters so natural and UNintimidating. I appreciate you so much, for this and for all our other conversations!


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